Strong, heated fingers closed over hers, slid against them, twined with them.
“Because if I don’t leave now, I won’t leave at all.” His thumb stroked her wrist, playing havoc with her pulse. “Because, besides missing my plane and breaking my contract, I’d still be here in the morning when your kids woke up, and you’d hate both of us if that happened. And because I respect you – and them - too much to do that to you.”
Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut and tried to focus on his words rather than his touch. Respect…kids. She felt certain the words held importance, but she couldn’t seem to get past the warm, pulsing ache spreading through her body.
“Damn it, Gwynn,” Gareth swore in her ear.
He’d moved closer. Close enough that his scent filled her senses to overflowing, and his hair brushed her cheek when she moved her head, and…
“You’re not helping,” he muttered.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Wh-what?”
“I said, you’re not helping,” he grated.
With a shock, Gwyn realized he hadn’t been the one to move after all. Somehow her own feet had shuffled forward, and now she teetered on the edge of the step, her free hand resting against his shoulder for balance. Her face flamed. She dropped her hand and stepped back.
“I’m sorry – ”
He shook his head, his smile made tight by the tension in his jaw. “Don’t be. I’m just a bit rusty at this honorable thing. Which brings us to the next discussion.”
Gwyn would have liked to retreat a few more steps before she tried to discuss anything with him, but he still held her hand captive. With his thumb continuing to travel its hypnotic path over her wrist, she couldn’t muster the will to pull away. She cleared her throat. “What discussion would that be?”
“The one where we decide what we do now. You see, much as I’m enjoying Goldfish soup and doing chicken pox dot-to-dots, I’m afraid those pursuits still fall under the heading of friendship.” He lifted her hand in his, turned it over in his grasp, and traced a finger across her palm. “I meant what I said about wanting more than that from you, Gwyn, and I don’t know how long honor will hold out.”
Nothing on earth could have persuaded her to meet his gaze at that moment.
Gareth lifted his other hand to push a strand of hair away from her face. “Come away with me.”
Except maybe that.
Her startled gaze flew to his. Yes, she wanted to say. Oh, yes.
“Away?” she actually managed.
“Just for the weekend. We’ll go somewhere quiet, just the two of us. Somewhere we won’t be interr – ”
“Now are you going to kiss?” Nicholas asked from above them, his voice a study in exaggerated patience.
Gareth’s fingers tangled in her hair. Leaning his forehead against hers, he heaved a pained sigh, but his grin belied his amusement.
“I rest my case,” he said.
Then, before she could do more than brace herself to move away and confront her son about being out of bed, he raised his head again. Mischief danced in his eyes.
“Do you suppose that if we give him what he wants, he’ll be satisfied?”
The suggestion startled her. “I – I – ”
“I thought so, too.” His gaze holding hers, he raised his voice. “Yes, Nicholas,” he said, “now we’re going to kiss.”
Gwyn tried her demurral again. “I – I don’t think…”
He ignored her. His hand slipped beneath her hair and cupped her neck, and she sucked in a quick breath. He stroked his thumb along the curve of her jaw, his focus shifting to her mouth. Protest died on her lips.
And then he kissed her. A gentle, unhurried kiss. A kiss that reached inside to touch her in astonishing ways. A kiss that deepened, hungered, and warmed every corner of her –
“It’s not that gross!” Nicholas yelled, presumably at his sister in her bedroom. Then, in a cheerful, only somewhat quieter voice, he called over the upstairs railing, “Thanks, Gareth. You can stop now.”
Bare feet slapped against the wood floor as he headed back to bed.
Gareth’s mouth stilled against Gwyn’s. It compressed. His shoulders began to shake under her hands and she choked back a slightly hysterical, answering giggle. Pulling back, he rested his forehead against hers once more.
“On that note,” he said, his voice vibrating with laughter, “I think I’d better leave.”
It took a concentrated effort for Gwyn to release her grip on the thick knit of his sweater. She nodded, stepping away and folding her arms across herself. Gareth caught her hands and drew her down from her step to stand in front of him on the landing.
“Will you think about it?” he asked, his voice gruff.
Gwyn didn’t need to ask him what he meant. And she figured it was a pretty safe bet that she would think of little else. She nodded again.
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Gareth’s mouth. “Lost your voice, have you?”
And her sanity, too, apparently.
A chuckle rumbled through him. “I’ll take that as a yes – and as a compliment.” He released her hands and picked up his coat from the rail. “I’ll call you from L.A.”
Chapter 28
He called on Wednesday.
It was two-thirty in the morning, and Gwyn had been tossing and turning for the last three hours without achieving anything that neared a sleep-like state. Not that she really expected to, given her recent track record. She scowled at the clock beside her bed, flounced onto her back, and debated the idea of doing the laundry – or maybe scrubbing the kitchen floor. Both activities would be infinitely more productive than continuing to pretend she might rest.
The phone’s sudden shrill nearly had her clinging to the ceiling. She rolled over and grabbed for the instrument.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. Did I wake you?” Rich, dark tones washed over her, velvet-smooth.
Gwyn clutched at the duvet and dragged it up to her chin. Her heart thudded against its confines. She swallowed. Cleared her throat. Managed a barely coherent, “No. I was awake.”
“Me too.”
Silence.
She wiped sweaty palms against the duvet, one at a time.
“I miss you,” he said.
She squeezed her eyes shut and coached herself through the forgotten art of breathing. Inhale…exhale…
Gareth’s voice deepened, roughened. “Tell me you’re suffering as much as I am.”
“I - uh - ”
“The truth.”
The ache that had started in her belly spread relentlessly outward. He wanted the truth. But how could she tell him something she still hadn’t decided to acknowledge?
“Gwyn?” the deep voice prompted. The edge to it startled her, its rawness echoing her own state.
“I’m here.”
“And?”
She exhaled shakily and tightened her fingers around the receiver. “And I’m suffering, too,” she whispered.
He muttered something she didn’t catch.
“Pardon?”
“I said good. No one should have to go through this kind of misery alone.”
She heard him take a deep breath, and imagined him running an impatient hand through his dark hair. The ache inside her softened and warmed. Lord, she’d never get to sleep now.
“I’ve wanted to call you both nights I’ve been here,” Gareth said, “but I’ve been getting back to the hotel after midnight, and I didn’t want to wake you by calling so late.”
“And tonight?”
“I couldn’t wait anymore. Should I apologize?”
“No.”
“Good. I’m pushing Damon to finish things up as fast as possible so I can catch the early flight out on Friday morning.” He paused. “Have you thought about the weekend?”
Every waking minute.
“Yes.”
“Yes, you’ve thought about it, or – ?”
She twisted a fistful of duvet in her free hand. “Sandy
’s coming over after work on Friday…I told her I’d be back Sunday afternoon.”
Silence met her words, lasting so long she began to wonder if their connection had failed. Then Gareth cleared his throat.
“It’s probably a good thing we have thousands of miles between us right now, you know.”
She smothered her nervous giggle with a fistful of duvet. “Probably,” she mumbled.
“But I wish we didn’t.”
Gwyn’s entire body flushed hot. Dear God, did the man have any idea how potent he could be – even long distance? Even if she’d been able to think of a reply, she couldn’t have uttered it.
Thankfully, Gareth didn’t wait for one. “Until Friday, then, Gwynneth with two n’s,” he said. “Sleep well.”
As if.
***
Gareth linked his fingers beneath his head and stared up at the ceiling. She’d said yes. Yes to an entire weekend with him. Just the two of them, unhurried, uninterrupted…
He sucked in a ragged breath, his body catching fire at the very thought of what lay ahead. Bloody hell, forty-two years old and he felt like a kid facing his first date – right down to the nerves and the conviction that the next two days were an absolute eternity stretched before him.
He rubbed his hands over his face and scowled. The shortest eternity ever, maybe. He not only had to finish dubbing the film in those two days – after convincing the director that a week’s worth of work could be done in less than forty-eight hours – he also had to find somewhere he could take Gwyn. Somewhere private, where they wouldn’t be seen and he wouldn’t be recognized.
The director would have to wait until morning, but the location…
He grinned. Of course. It would be perfect. He reached for the phone again.
Seconds later, his cousin’s groggy voice responded, “Yeah.”
“It’s Gareth.”
Silence. Then, “Are you dying?”
“I hope not.”
“Is anyone we know dying?”
“No.”
“Then call back in the morning.”
“I’ll make it quick, I promise.”
Sean sighed heavily. “What?”
“Do we still own that cabin you talked me into buying with you a few years ago? Out near someplace that starts with a p?”
“Perth. And it’s a cottage, not a cabin,” Sean corrected. “And why the hell do you want to know about it at – ” He paused. “It’s almost three a.m., for chrissake.”
“Just answer the question and you can go back to sleep.”
“Yes, we still own it.”
“Can it be used at this time of year?”
“You have to haul water in, and it gets damned cold if the wood stove goes out, but there’s still electricity and yeah, I’ve used it during the winter.”
“What does it look like?”
“Excuse me? You want me to describe a building to you at three in the – ” Sean muttered something violent under his breath. “What the hell is this all about, Gareth? And what time is it there anyway? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“It’s late here too. Look, just humor me, will you? Is the place a dump or what?”
“No, it’s not a dump. It’s – I don’t know – casual, I guess you’d call it.”
“But nice?”
“Yes, it’s nice.”
“Guy nice or girl nice?”
“Have you been drinking?” Sean asked suspiciously.
“No.”
“Then what – ” Sean broke off. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Gwyn, would it?”
“It would.”
“She’ll love it, you can blame me if she doesn’t, I still think you’re an idiot, and now you can kiss off and let me go back to sleep.”
With his ear ringing from Sean’s none-too-gentle hanging up, Gareth grinned with satisfaction and returned the receiver to its cradle. Location solved, dubbing to go.
And only two days until Gwyn.
Chapter 29
Gwyn swung her duffle bag onto the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. She turned to her friend. “Well, I guess that’s it. Any questions?”
“Yes. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I meant about the kids.”
“You didn’t specify.”
“I’m specifying now.”
“The kids will be fine,” Sandy said. “Rob will be fine. I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about. Couldn’t you have done this with a normal guy instead of a Hollywood superstar?”
Gwyn huddled into the thick warmth of her oversized cotton pullover. She scowled at the redhead. “Would you kindly make up your mind? A few days ago you were the one telling me I should give this a chance.”
Sandy pounced on her words. “So you think it does have a chance, then?”
“That’s not what I meant.” Gwyn sighed. “Your romantic streak is all very nice, Sand, but I’m too much of a realist to see this as anything more than it is.”
“A two-night fling?”
“Something like that.”
“And am I the only one who sees something wrong with this picture? Jack left four years ago, sweetheart. Maybe if you’d done this once or twice since then, it wouldn’t seem so serious.”
“It isn’t serious. It’s a weekend away and I’m a big enough girl to handle it.”
“So when Sunday rolls around, you’ll just come home to your kids and pick up where you left off, is that it?” Sandy crossed her arms and returned her scowl. “Damn it, Gwyn, if you insist on going through with this, at least be honest with yourself!”
Gwyn stared at her friend in silence for a long moment, and then she walked around the car and opened the driver’s door.
“The kids’ health cards are on my desk,” she said. She slid behind the steering wheel, closed the door, and rolled down the window. “I’ll have my cell phone with me, but if something comes up and you can’t reach me, call Gareth’s cousin. His name is Sean and his number is on the fridge. Any questions?”
Sandy shook her head, and Gwyn reached for the ignition.
Her friend’s soft voice stopped her. “Hey.”
Gwyn braced herself, not sure she could take another lecture.
“I’m wrong, aren’t I?” Sandy asked. She tilted her head to one side. A half-smile curved her lips but didn’t ease the concern in her eyes. “You’ve already been honest with yourself.”
Gwyn thought of the hours she’d engaged in an internal debate over her wisdom – or idiocy – in meeting Gareth like this. She thought of the ache she’d lived with for days now, and of how the very sound of his voice across thousands of miles could erase all the stresses of a day as if they’d never happened.
She no longer doubted that she was in over her head. When – not if, but when – she and Gareth went their separate ways at the end of the weekend, she would suffer greatly. Her mind flinched from the pain contained in that thought. In the end, her final decision about the weekend had been simply based: if she had to suffer anyway, at least she’d have this one time.
So had she been honest with herself?
She gave Sandy a little smile. “Brutally,” she said. “See you Sunday.”
***
Gareth moved the vase of flowers from the coffee table onto the kitchen table, glowered at it, then picked it up and carried it to the bureau facing the cottage’s front door. Would she like the mixed bouquet? Maybe he should have gone with roses instead. Every woman he’d ever met liked roses.
But Gwyn wasn’t every woman.
Maybe he should have skipped the flowers altogether.
“I mean really, Connor, how lame can you get?” he muttered aloud.
He grabbed the vase and marched it back into the living area, setting it with a thump beside the wine glasses he’d already laid out. Sighing, he rubbed a palm over his freshly shaven jaw line. Flowers, wine, music. All the makings of a first-class seduction, which was not what he wanted the weekend to be.
/> Well, not entirely, anyway.
He had no doubt both he and Gwyn had certain expectations of their time together – hell, he’d barely been able to contain the fire roaming his body ever since she’d agreed to the weekend – but he didn’t want her laboring any longer under the very mistaken impression he wanted only the physical from her. Not now he’d decided Sean and his theory were both as far out in left field as they could get.
Two days away from Gwyn – away from the lightness her smile brought and the ease of just being with her – had convinced him he had finally, after forty-two years, stumbled onto the real thing. The head-over-heels, without-a-doubt, once-in-a-lifetime kind of love that had nothing to do with his guilt-ridden past, and nothing at all to do with fulfilling some kind of fantasy role.
His lips quirked at the absurdity of the last thought. If he had been looking to play out a father-fantasy, he doubted it would have included spotted kids, overflowing bathtubs, or Goldfish soup.
No, despite what Sean thought, this was no fantasy. It was real, almost unbearably precious, and…
His amusement faded.
And as Sean had pointed out so helpfully a few days ago, unspeakably fragile because of his continued deception.
He scowled at the flowers. He loved her, but how the hell did he tell her – or more precisely, when? If he told her before she found out about Amy, her hurt and betrayal might go so deep that it outweighed everything else. But if he confessed his secret first, he risked the chance that she wouldn’t listen to his declaration of love at all.
Talk about damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.
Bloody hell.
About to seize the flowers yet again, if only to give himself something to do besides brood, he paused at the sound of tires crunching over gravel. An engine purred into the driveway and fell silent. A car door slammed.
Gwyn had arrived.
He’d just have to wing this as best he could.
Chapter 30
She was here.
Somehow Gwyn managed to park her own car beside Gareth’s, remove her keys from her ignition, and climb from the vehicle – all, she was certain, without conscious participation. But not even auto-pilot could move her feet away from the car and toward the cottage.
Gwynneth Ever After Page 15
